


Afterparty

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ioan is drunk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** leaves me to my own devices.
> 
> Originally posted 1-6-07

Ioan’s drunk.

Matthew rubs his face with both hands, the heels of them pressed against his eyes. He’d not wanted to come to this, and now Ioan’s drunk, which means Ioan’s apt to get friendly, which means Matthew’s night just went from bad to worse.

It would be different if he were drunk, but he finds the more Ioan drinks, the less he has a taste for it. Maybe it’s the deep-seated knowledge that with both of them drunk at the same time these days, they’d either fuck or fight, and he’s not sure which would be better, and he’s sure as fuck not sure which would come first.

It bothers him a bit that things are so different now, different here. But this is LA and not London, and sure as fuck isn’t Cardiff. Matthew closes his eyes and thinks about home for a moment, and then wishes he had a fag to give him something to do other than watch it all fall apart.

Ioan’s got a thing for blondes, but he’s also got a thing for brunettes and redheads. He’s not got a type, so long as she’s female and willing, and they’re always willing. Matthew watches them watch him – single women, married women – all of them falling for a touch of his fingers and that voice, pure seduction from his sinful lips.

He sighs and mutters a curse word under his breath and manages to bum a fag off someone coming in off the balcony. Good enough for him as he leans in and lets the smoke fill his lungs. He doesn’t do this often, so doing it feels fantastic, fucking sinful in itself, and maybe it’s enough to banish the thoughts of everything else. Just inhale and exhale, breathe it in and blow it out.

He watches through the open door, unable to help himself. He knows Ioan’s moves as well as Ioan himself, knows all the things he’ll do and say to the girl he’s leaning into now. She’s wearing a dress the color of sapphires and it sets of her eyes, blue as Matthew’s, and her pale skin, her raven-dark hair. Ioan likes contrasts, sees things in black and white sometimes, Matthew thinks, and she fits the bill with white teeth and blood red lips and her skin a high sheen of glitter and smoke.

“Fucking ‘ell,” he exhales the words with a flick of ash and leans back against the cool stone. It’s all telegraphed now, hell, might as well be on a billboard. In less than five minutes, she’ll be Ioan’s world and wrapped up in him and they’ll disappear for a while and when she comes back she’ll look less pristine, less perfect, but she’ll fucking shine so bright, no one will notice. And Ioan’ll lick his lips, cat caught the canary, and he’ll find a glass of scotch – the good stuff – and drink it down, eyes roaming for something else. Someone else.

Fuck all if it’s going to be Matthew tonight.

He stubs the cigarette violently against the stonework and tosses the butt into the trashcan by the door. He’s sure he’ll put a few Hollywood types off with the smell of smoke and irritation coming off him, but he’s too tired to care anymore. He weaves through the crowd and edges up toward Ioan, toward the woman, watching as Ioan’s long fingers stroke over her bare shoulder, slide down the line of her dress to ghost across the swell of her breast.

“I’m off, mate.”

Ioan’s head jerks up, his attention wrested away from his conquest. Matthew offers him a hint of a smile, the most he can manage with the taste of smoke and champagne in his mouth. “Off?”

Matthew can see the thoughts sliding around behind the dark eyes, swimming in too much liquor and lust. “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

He frowns and fuck if it doesn’t make him that much more attractive, that perplexed look of disbelief and misunderstanding. “But…”

Matthew notches up the smile and aims it at the girl on Ioan’s arm then looks his best friend in the eye. “Have a nice night, Ioan.” He nods at the girl and then turns for the door, breathing out the hard beat of emotion in his chest. He walks through the party, nodding and smiling as needed until he’s at the door and the line of cabs rolls forward and he slides inside, giving his address and leaning his head back, closing his eyes and wishing the night away.

**

His flat is dark, but he doesn’t bother with lights. One of the advantages to having your furniture consist of a sofa, a bed and the largest fucking telly he could buy – there’s not a lot of chance of tripping over anything in the dark. The refrigerator gives him enough light to open his beer by, and he grabs the rest of the six-pack for good measure. The cigarette still burns at the back of his throat, but it’s not even close to the taste he needs to wash away.

He moves back into the living room, shedding his tie and unbuttoning his shirt a few buttons, enough to breath. He untucks his shirt, and his jacket fits over the back of the sofa nice enough, and his feet feel cool in the warm air as he ditches his shoes and socks. He closes his eyes and drinks, letting the liquid fill his mouth and holding it until it burns, and then he swallows it down.

He’s almost finish with the second beer when the door opens, and he’s not remotely surprised. He doesn’t look up, just opens the third bottle and drinks a good inch or two off the top. Ioan closes the door and leans against it, and Matthew can feel the disapproval in his eyes.

“You’ve got a fat lot of nerve, mate,” Matthew informs him, draining another few inches from the bottle, “to look at me like that.”

“You _left_ the fucking party.”

“I’m aware.” Matthew still doesn’t give in to the feelings simmering beneath the surface, the ones he tries so hard to ignore. “Didn’t see the need to stay ‘round. I’ve seen the dance you were doing before. Know all the steps.”

Hurt flashes in Ioan’s eyes, but Matthew’s not about to feel sorry. He’s done this too many times now to feel sorry. “It’s not like I can spend the night chatting with you.”

“Didn’t ask you to, mate.” Matthew finishes off the beer and reaches for another. He’s safe at home now, safe as houses, so it doesn’t matter if he’s on his way to drunk as well. Ioan’s itching for a fight, and that’s right and proper here at home and probably far better for Matthew than the fuck he might have gotten if he’d stuck around. “Didn’t ask you to leave either.”

“You made it pretty fucking clear that I was to follow.”

“Did I?” Matthew drinks some of the beer down, puzzling over Ioan’s sentence. His brow furrows and he shakes his head finally, looking over at Ioan, wishing it didn’t hurt. “No. No, I didn’t, Ioan. Said I was leaving, said have a nice night. Didn’t ask for anything more.”

“You _left_.” Anger’s simmering off Ioan’s skin, and fuck Matthew if it’s not even prettier than the smooth seduction of earlier.

“Yeah. I did. What fucking of it, man?” He’s tired now, and the beer’s shit and not doing enough to his system to numb it. “I wasn’t your fucking date. Hell, I wasn’t even who you were trying to fuck, so what of it?”

Hurt flashes again, and this time it does sting, which gets Matthew to his feet and to the shelf that serves as his bar. The Jack Daniels bottle is about a third full, and he figures he can pass out by the end of it if he tries really hard.

Ioan just watches him, waiting until Matthew’s back on the sofa before moving over and sitting down on the opposite end of it. This is the part Matthew hates, the part where Ioan’s guilty and then contrite. There’s a little boy in Ioan and he rises to the surface, all puppy eyes and pleading, the smallest hint of a devilish smile merely an ill-advised agreement or forgiveness away.

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“Never does, mate.”

“She was just lovely.”

“She was.”

Ioan pauses and watches as Matthew takes a hit off the bottle. Matthew can still see the shine of alcohol in Ioan’s gaze, knows the boyo’s still half pissed. Rather than relinquishing the whiskey, Matthew takes another drink, feeling it breathe fire down his throat. He closes his eyes, focuses on that.

“Was just sex.”

Matthew’s throat constricts and he pulls the bottle away, not wanting to choke. As it is, thin trails of whiskey snake down his skin and he starts to wipe them away on his sleeve when he feels Ioan’s hand catch his chin, feels Ioan’s breath feather over his mouth, feels Ioan’s tongue tracing them on his skin until his wet tongue finds Matthew’s lips and paints them with the alcohol.

“’s all it was, Matthew. Just sex.”

 _And this? What is this?_ he wants to ask, but he knows better, just opens his mouth to Ioan’s questing tongue, just gives in to the sweep and pressure and lets himself fall into the kiss. Ioan’s mouth is wicked and warm as he shifts and slides, settling on Matthew’s lap. There’s a low ache that starts somewhere and ricochets through him, and it hurts almost more than he can bear.

His hands slide up Ioan’s back, bringing him closer. He’s not drunk enough for this, he knows that, which means when it’s over, he’ll lie awake and wonder how he got here, how he let this happen, but he can’t think about it now, when it’s happening, when Ioan’s warm skin is beneath his fingers, when Ioan’s mouth moves over his, when he can taste cigars and scotch and _woman_ on Ioan’s tongue.

Ioan’s hand settles on Matthew’s neck, fingers feathering over Matthew’s pounding pulse. His thumb settles on the hard beat, his fingers curling to scrape against the short hairs at Matthew’s nape as he shifts closer, deepens the kiss. Matthew slides one hand up, tracing the steps of Ioan’s spine. He slides his other hand down, letting his finger slide beneath Ioan’s waistband, touching the hint of flesh beneath.

Fingers brush Matthew’s chest as Ioan’s other hand starts undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, pushing fabric away from flesh, tickling over the dark hairs that dust across Matthew’s nipples. He groans in the kiss, fingers pressing harder to Ioan’s skin, as Ioan’s fingers scrape and graze over the hard nub.

Matthew breaks the kiss and gasps, falling back against the couch as he sucks in air. Ioan doesn’t waste time or movement, falling into Matthew and replaces the thumb at his pulse with a tongue and teeth and lips, tasting skin as his hands finish with Matthew’s shirt and push it back and off of him, trapping his arms well enough as Ioan slides off of him, parting Matthew’s legs and moving between them to lean in and plant wet, dangerous kisses along Matthew’s chest.

Matthew’s hands find Ioan’s hair – stiff with gel, but still soft beneath, and he tangles his fingers in the curls. Ioan gives a low, appreciative moan and Matthew tugs harder, feeling the hitch in Ioan’s breath against his skin.

“C’mon, Matthew,” Ioan whispers as he undoes Matthew’s tuxedo pants, and it’s like a shiver down Matthew’s spine as he lifts his hips, lets Ioan strip them away. It means Ioan’s mouth isn’t on his skin anymore, but it also means that there’s a very good chance Ioan’s going to be on his skin fairly soon, and that almost makes up for it. Ioan chucks Matthew’s pants aside and moves in again, mouth close to Matthew’s cock, breath burning the overheated skin. “Hullo, lad.”

“Fuck off,” Matthew huffs, but the sound is more laugh than indignance and earns him the glorious stretch of Ioan’s drunken grin. His sinfully long tongue snaked over the head of Matthew’s cock and Matthew’s got no choice but to moan and thrust and shudder against the touch. “Fuck you.”

Ioan smiles and it’s wicked, like he’s wicked, and he stands, undoing his trousers and letting them drop. His dress shirt falls over his cock which isn’t quite hard yet - _He’s already gotten laid tonight, Mattie, my lad_ \- but his skin is flushed with heat and the throb of pulse at Ioan’s neck tells Matthew it’s just a matter of time, a matter of movement.

Matthew leans forward for the whiskey as Ioan ducks into the other room, his arse flashing beneath the shirt as he walks, and Matthew feels himself getting harder. He kills the rest of the bottle in three long, fast swallows that singe his throat beyond the feeling of it and then leans back, eyes almost closed, open just enough to see Ioan walking back out of the bedroom, intent clear in his gaze.

He wants to just feel this and not think, so he closes his eyes as Ioan kneels at his feet, sliding the condom on Matthew with the kind of slow reverence that usually has Matthew cursing him and begging him and wanting to get on with it, but tonight he just hangs on, fingers fisted in the couch cushions. He hardens further under Ioan’s hands, thrusting into his fist as he paints lube on the condom. “What’d you say, Rhys?” He settles over Matthew, straddling him, Matthew’s cock hard against his skin as he sinks down, sheathes Matthew in tight heat. “Fuck you?”

Matthew groans as Ioan slides down around him, head falling back against the couch. Ioan’s a fucking master of the situation, knowing he’s in control and any issues Matthew has he’ll have to work hard to take out, can’t punish Ioan’s body with aggression and anger when Ioan’s got him pinned to the couch with his body, with his hands pinning Matthew’s wrists to the sofa, with his mouth holding Matthew’s in a kiss.

They move together, point and counterpoint, thrust and counterthrust, yin and yang, bloody fucking best mates. Matthew knows what every breath means and knows when Ioan releases his hands, he’s to slide one down and wrap it around Ioan’s thick cock, knows he’s to stroke him hard and tight and faster as Matthew himself gets close. Ioan’s body is like a vise around him, tight and wet and alive with friction and every thrust is hard won and not enough. Matthew bites Ioan’s lower lip, hard enough to sting, to break the skin and Ioan gasps, eyes wide and surprised as he looks Matthew over.

Ioan grasps Matthew’s wrist, stilling the hand moving along his cock. Ioan’s body’s still moving, and Matthew whimpers slightly in frustration, but it fades as Ioan grabs Matthew’s other hand and sets them both on Ioan’s waist, sliding his hands up to squeeze Matthew’s, wordlessly begging for the bruises Matthew’s going to brand him with. Fingers dig in and Ioan groans, his hands releasing Matthew’s to go to his own cock and Matthew takes control of their movement, holding Ioan tight against him as he thrusts up, desperate and hard and angry.

Ioan groans, burying the sound in another kiss, the coppery tang of blood in both their mouths. It’s aggressive now, Ioan releasing his cock to bury both hands in Matthew’s short hair, pulling roughly at the stands until Matthew’s gasping, fighting to stay in the kiss, his fingers white against Ioan’s skin as his hips jerk up fast and hard again and again and then he stills, buried so deep all he can feel is the pulse of Ioan’s blood and the whimpered need in his ear.

Ioan reaches for Matthew’s hand, guiding it back to his cock in a wave of whispered pleading. Matthew’s fingers curve around the hard, hot flesh, stroking it as he snakes his other hand down, cupping and squeezing lightly at Ioan’s bollocks. Ioan groans and drops his head back, heat pulsing as he comes, tight in Matthew’s grip.

Ioan slumps forward, all long fingers and gasping breath and sweaty skin against Matthew, his shirt damp and clinging to them both. Matthew can feel the movement of Ioan’s tongue as he darts it out, tastes the hint of blood Matthew left in his wake. “It was just sex. Swear it,” Ioan whispers softly.

“I know, Ioan.” Matthew guides Ioan off of him and gets to his feet, padding to the bathroom without looking back. “That’s all it ever is.”  



End file.
